


What Is This, A Soap Opera?

by prodigalDaughter



Category: Masters of the Universe & Related Fandoms, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, Foster Care, Gen, I'll update the tags when more things happen how about that, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Sibling Bonding, abusive mother figure, bad foster care, but catradora is happening and also scorpia is in love with catra, don't wanna put ship tags on this yet when nothing's clear at this point, or at least they will be soon, possibly inaccurate foster care, scorpia isn't here yet though, the gang's all here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalDaughter/pseuds/prodigalDaughter
Summary: “Marlena and Randor Powers welcome their daughter, Adora, born 15 years ago on January 19th.”When the almost absurdly wholesome Powers family gain another daughter out of the blue, the whole town wants to know what happened. The present might be more interesting than the past, though, as Adora tries to get used to a life almost the exact opposite from what she's known.





	What Is This, A Soap Opera?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this while procrastinating on my novel, so... if I don't update for a while it's probably a good thing. Much love to my darling @deusexanna, who talked over this with me and came up with some of Adora's dialogue.

The Powers family, it was generally agreed, were so wholesome they could have had a sitcom. Some families like that give you the heebie-jeebies, like there has to be something bad going on behind closed doors, but the Powerses were just endlessly supportive and cheerful. Adam, their son, came out in the sixth grade and absolutely nobody was surprised; his parents baked him a cake and life went on. Marlena, his mother, balanced NASA research with being active in the PTA, while her husband Randy made time every weekend for ball and board games with the family. Their lawn was perfectly manicured, their home spacious without being grotesque. The Powerses threw the best Fourth of July parties in the county, with everyone invited and everyone welcome. They approached every problem with family meetings and discussions, and always had an open ear and heart for friends and the community.

Which was why when word got out they were meeting with a social worker once a week, rumours spread fast.

“Adam’s in high school,” one theory went, “so they’re probably just going all out in making sure he has every single resource anyone could ever imagine.”

“They’re probably giving the social worker tips,” was another idea. “being the blueprint for a healthy family. She’s gonna write a book.”

The rumours got louder and more outlandish when Marlena casually mentioned at the end of a mothers-of-upcoming-sophomores brunch that she was going to speak with her lawyer, “again”.

“It has to be a divorce,” some people said. “maybe Marlena met some dashing astronaut at work.”

“They love each other too much, it can’t be a divorce. Unless it’s for tax purposes.”

“Randy campaigns to raise taxes every election cycle, they wouldn’t try to dodge them.”

“Anyway, they’re too good.”

The only answer the community got was an ad in the local newspaper’s births section, most of a year after the meetings started, with Adam’s birthday and a photo of a hauntingly familiar girl no one had seen before.

_“Marlena and Randor Powers welcome their daughter, Adora, born 15 years ago on January 19th.”_

— — — —

The first tip off that this was a different kind of social worker visit was that there was no warning. Adora knew about social worker visits; they’d happened once or twice a year as long as she could remember. They’d spend a few days scrubbing the house top to bottom, Ms. Weaver would give her a little extra dinner (which she’d quietly slip onto Catra’s plate) to “plump her cheeks”, and then they’d all sit at the dining room table quietly doing homework while the social worker circled the house.

This time, though, Ms. Weaver had answered the doorbell, had a heated conversation with the person on the other side, and then coldly announced to the house at large that the social worker had arrived. Adora had scrambled from the bedroom where she was doing her required push-ups to the table, grabbing her science binder out of her backpack on the way, and crashed into a chair to stare at the periodic table. Catra bonked into her side as she hopped into a chair too, Lonnie and Rogelio and Kyle all falling into place across the table.

Adora’s mind was racing. It had been a week since she’d scrubbed the grout in the bathroom, much less bleached the countertops. It looked like the front hall hadn’t even been swept in a couple days. She looked nervously to the door as Ms. Weaver imperiously stepped aside, wondering what had brought this on.

The second tip that something weird was going on was simply that it was a different social worker. It had always been Mr. Nuru, who was red-faced and stammering and whose eyes constantly looked like they were going to pop out of his head. He’d examine every inch of the house, and Adora would feel a little glow of pride whenever he found nothing to complain about. He’d shake Ms. Weaver’s hand, hardly looking at the children themselves, and leave, and everyone could go back to routine. This social worker, though, was a woman, taller than Mr. Nuru, white-haired and surprisingly pretty. She didn’t even look around her, zeroing in immediately on the children at the table. She came and took the spare seat— the one meant for Ms. Weaver— and smiled, warmly.

“Which one of you is Adora?”

Adora had raised her hand, keeping her face as calm as she could while mildly terrified.

“I should have guessed. My name is Teela Na, and I’m just going to ask you some questions, dear.”

The questions had been weird, even more so with Catra frozen at her side and the other kids looking at her suspiciously. She’d asked about her earliest memories, about her name, if she knew why she’d been named that, if she was happy here. That last, at least, she knew the answer to; they were all happy and well taken care of, they were glad to have the opportunities Beatrix provided them— because while she was Ms. Weaver inside the house, to outsiders they were on first name basis. Ms. Na didn’t look impressed. She’d shaken Adora’s hand, then asked everyone else’s names and shaken their hands too. She’d taken a quick turn of the house, met Ms. Weaver’s eyes coldly, and then left.

Catra had ribbed her about it that night— she said she couldn’t remember the last time it was _Adora_ who was sent to bed without dinner, even though that was a lie because it had been only two months prior— and they’d laughed and shoved each other off the bottom bunk until Lonnie had yelled at them to shut up so she could get some sleep.

They’d gone back to quiet talking, then, hidden under the blankets. Catra shared her little can of peanuts she’d poached off of a class party with Adora, which tasted weird because she’d already brushed her teeth. If she snuck out of bed to brush them again, she moaned, she’d be breaking curfew.

“I really don’t want two demerits in a day,” Adora whispered.

“You ass-kisser,” Catra teased.

“Somebody’s gotta do it.”

Catra’s breath was warm against the back of Adora’s neck, and the arm around her waist was comforting. Adora had slipped into sleep before Catra could muster a retort. The day had been weirder than any day in recent memory— routine, routine, Ms. Weaver had always raised her fosters on reliable schedules— but here in the bottom bunk she was warm.

— — — —

The visit had been six months after the Powerses got in touch with Ms. Teela Na. It was another three before Ms. Weaver coldly informed Adora she was to pack her things, as she was being moved. Adora took a full minute before she even started to follow the order, it was so unexpected. Moved. Just her. Moved. Going away. She hadn’t been moved in all her life; there had been a few kids who’d drifted through the house for a few months, even a year, before being shuffled off to a different family, but— her? One of the “lifers”, as Catra dryly called their little family?

She owned a hairbrush and carabiner of hair ties, a toothbrush and toothpaste, two sets of school clothes and a set for cleaning in, pajamas, her school supplies, and a water bottle. She dutifully packed them away in her backpack, thoughts flicking back and forth between the unknown future, absurd plans for sneaking Catra out with her, and the unexpectedly pained look on Ms. Weaver’s face when she’d told her she was to go.

She thought she’d get the rest of the day, at least, but Ms. Na was waiting in the front room when she came out to tell Ms. Weaver she’d finished packing.

“You’re all ready? Wonderful. Come with me, dear.”

“It’s you?” Adora said, so confused she nearly tripped over her own shoelaces.

“I’ll explain in the car,” Ms. Na said, and hurried her out. Adora met Catra’s eyes through two windows— one, the window of the silver minivan; the other, the window of the bedroom that wasn’t hers anymore.

— — — —

As promised, Teela— she insisted Adora use her first name, as she was a “friend of the family”— explained in the car, but none of it really registered. It was outlandish. One of those girls who’d passed through the home had been certain that her real family was alive and would come get her someday, but that wasn’t her fault; she was four. This was something else, something Adora didn’t totally understand, full of hospital malpractice and government kick-backs and lawyers and a young couple who’d been told one of their twins didn’t survive birth.

They drove for three hours. Her family, Teela told her, lived on the other end of the state; she said she was sure Adora would like it there. The radio was playing, clean and perfect indie pop, and Adora laid her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. The van smelled like play-dough and fake lavender. She slept a while, waking up when the sun set, and stared out the window for the rest of the drive, answering Teela’s questions (how are you feeling, do you need anything, what’s your favorite band) politely (fine ma’am, no thank you ma’am, I never thought about it ma’am) but not volunteering any information.

When they pulled up at the big, white house with the warm light pouring out the front window, Adora’s first thought was that it looked like a TV show about Christmas. That window should have a big shiny pine tree in it, she thought.  
Her second thought was _incoming,_ as the door flew open and two people ran out to greet her. In the front was a woman who was probably Ms.Weaver’s age but looked a good decade younger by dint of the raw emotion on her face, tall and high cheekboned and red haired. Her husband followed, dark haired with an immaculately bushy beard, the kind that probably had oils and waxes combed through it to keep it the perfect amount of “wild”. They both skidded to a stop a few feet from the van, peering up into the windows, clutching each other’s hands in anticipation.

Adora swallowed hard and opened the van door.

Her mother. Her father.

— — — —

They’d had dinner. Teela stayed through the meal, and hardly needed to say anything to remind the Powers family not to overwhelm Adora— as soon as someone got too enthusiastic, they’d check themselves, glancing over at Teela before going quiet. Father, mother, brother. Her father had a rounded nose and parted his hair in the middle; her mother wore hers in a tight bun and sat up very straight. Her brother was the strangest to look at. (Adam, his name was Adam. Randor, Marlena, Adam. She repeated the names in her mind like a mantra, suddenly afraid she’d forget them.)

Adam was her age, exactly, her height, exactly, had her straw-colored hair, exactly, though his was in a bowl cut and hers in a pony. He had the same blue eyes, even, which neither of their parents had. Adora thought about Punnet squares and recessive genes and peas sprouting different colors. Peas in pods. He kept smiling. He’d clapped her on the shoulder as she came in, and she’d returned the gesture on reflex before realizing that Marlena was glaring at him as if he’d punched her in the face. She’d smiled, awkwardly, trying to relieve the tension, and saw the anger-panic fade into the “we’ll talk about this later” look she knew well from Ms. Weaver.

Adam seemed good. Adam seemed safe. He was the one who showed her to the kitchen after dinner to rinse off her plate and put it in the dishwasher, though he steered her back out again before she could wash the pots and pans. He was the one who gave her a tour of the house— bedrooms upstairs, kitchen, living room, dining room, and Marlena’s study on the ground floor, den and work out room in the basement.

“Your room,” he said, “was storage until pretty recently. We fished some great stuff out of there when we went through it. Would you believe we kept all the “Warm Fuzzies” other kids sent me in kindergarten?”

“I don’t even know what those are and I absolutely believe you would keep them.”

He laughed. “Well, here’s you.”

The room was only a little bigger than the bedroom at Ms. Weaver’s, but it only seemed to have one bed. There was a desk, a wardrobe, an armchair next to a mostly empty bookcase. A lamp sat on a bedside table. Everything was in good shape and slightly awkwardly placed; it looked like she imagined a hotel would.

“Where do you sleep?” she asked, after a moment.

“I’m next door. I don’t lock it; just knock if you need me, okay?”

Adora shook herself. She didn’t want to say anything about how weird it was to have only her in a room that big— she didn’t want to seem ungracious. But it really was eerie.

“Here,” Adam was already carrying on, “the bathroom’s right across the hall. I hear sharing bathrooms with sisters is wild, so we’ll see how it goes, huh?”

She followed him wordlessly and brushed her teeth. He had an electric toothbrush and tooth-whitening mouthwash, which he actually used. He washed his face thoroughly with a cleansing foam and slathered on a medicated moisturizer, which Adora was relieved by— Kyle had usually foregone face-washing on some weird masculine principle, and Rogelio was so ashy he was practically scaled.

“You can use my face stuff if you want,” he said. “I know you might not have had a lot of time to pack.”

She thanked him, kind of surprised— she couldn’t have packed the wash she used at the Weavers’ house anyway, since it wasn’t hers; it belonged to everybody. He lingered in the doorway, a little concern on his face. She watched him out of the corner of her eye.

Adam was her height, a little bulkier than she was, wearing a pink puffer vest over a long-sleeved tee and tight jeans. He had the same dark eyebrows she did, and the same rounded hairline when he’d brushed his fringe back to wash his face. _Adam and Adora_ , she thought. The kind of thing people name twins.

When she went to bed, the room seemed to extend forever in every direction. She felt the empty space on her back, and it didn’t feel safe. She squeezed her eyes shut, pulling the blanket tightly around herself, and imagined that it was Catra’s arms around her.

— — — —

Adora shot out of bed at four fifty-nine AM, hand flying out to one side to shut off her alarm before it could ring. She uselessly slapped at the empty bedside table, taking a good few seconds to remember where she was. It didn’t matter— she slipped out of bed and pulled on her clothes, then padded downstairs rapidly. She’d seen where the kitchen was, and there had been a likely cupboard door in the foyer that probably hid cleaning supplies. She stumbled into the kitchen, still shaking the sleep out of her eyes, and blinked.

There were no dishes in the sink. The pots and pans had been washed at some point in the night. The dishwasher blinked a slow green light to show it was done, but the counters were clean and everything was in its place.

She thought back to the previous night, and realized it had been pretty clean then too. There had been a few pots and pans waiting in the sink, but nothing had been left out, and there were no dishes on the counters. She paused for a moment, trying to work out what her task would be, if the kitchen was already tidy.

First off, she could put away the dishes. She went around opening all the cabinets as quietly as she could, memorizing the locations of each dish set— and the Powerses did have sets, each style of dish coming with eight identical dinner plates, usually with matching bowls and salad plates too. The pretty white plates with blue stylized feathers around the rims that they’d eaten on the previous night seemed to go above the toaster, judging by the matching tea set. She was carefully stacking them when she heard her brother’s voice.

“What are you doing up?”

“Cleaning,” she said, turning to him. He stood in the doorway rubbing his eyes, pink flannel pyjamas rumpled. “It’s past five, why aren’t you dressed?”

“It’s Saturday,” he said, like that explained everything. “That’s not where those go.”

Cheeks suddenly burning, Adora took the plates back down.

“No, why— Adora, why _would_ you know where the dishes go? Dad and I put them away when we make breakfast.”

“Which is… when?”

“Um, it’s Saturday, so… nine thirty?”

Adora was gobsmacked. Adam seemed to sense it.

“I mean, we get up at seven like normal people during the week,” he said, seemingly unaware of the stinging implication Adora wasn’t ‘normal people’.

“But mom works really hard, so she likes to sleep in on the weekends, and dad and I like to rest too….” He yawned.

“But,” Adora said carefully, “I’m already up. I should… be helpful.”

“It’s your first day home,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect you to do _any_ chores.”

Adora stared at him, silently pleading.

“I mean, if you’re too antsy to sleep,” he said, “we could go work out a while.”

Adora let out a breath. At least this was something she knew how to do. “Sure,” she said.

“Meet you down there; I’m gonna get out of my PJs.”

Adora nodded and padded down the other set of stairs to the basement where she remembered the weights were, from her tour the previous night. There was a treadmill, too, so she hopped up on it, futzed about with its controls for a minute turning it on, and started jogging to clear her head.  
She’d always liked this kind of thing. There hadn’t been a treadmill at home, but she’d loved going in circles around the perimeter of the property, letting the air pull deep into her lungs and her heart get fast, enough that she didn’t have to think about anything but propulsion. She’d do chin-ups on the bunkbed, and push-ups, and crunches and twists and burpees— even more than the fitness routine required by Ms. Weaver. Catra called her a dumb jock, but Catra was into parkour so she couldn’t talk.

Adam came back in workout shorts and a tank, and hopped up on the elliptical on the other side of the room. He grinned at her, but then settled into an interval training and was obviously zoning in as much as she was. It was good to make her mind blank out, doing something she knew she was actually good at.

The treadmill’s automatic programme took her through a cool down, then stopped, and she explored the gym a little more until she found a pull-up bar. As she raised and lowered herself, going slow so she could really feel it in her arms, she watched Adam a little, trying to memorize his face. She should have known this face since she was born, apparently.

Adam was cooling down.

“Hey, when you’re done with your set, do you mind spotting me? I’ll do it back.”

This, at least, Adora had experience with from the weight sets in the gym at the community centre. She held herself at the level of the bar for another moment, then dropped down and padded over to the bench.

Adam, it turned out, could bench exactly as much as she could. It would have been funny, if it wasn’t so weird. He also was an actually trustworthy spot, which was a relief; too many times she’d been stuck with Kyle squatting awkwardly over her, vibrating with nerves. She knew she shouldn’t go ahead without a spot she genuinely believed would be able to save her, but a lot of the time she just needed to keep going and couldn’t think about the consequences that much.

“So,” he said, a little too casually, “five AM?”

“What?”

“You always got up this early on a Saturday?”

“Sure,” Adora said, keeping her eyes on the weight bar. “There’s no school, so we didn’t need to save our strength for gym class or anything.”

“You still need to get plenty of sleep. The school nurse has whole books about how much sleep teenagers need.”

“Sure, for class.”

“For your development, too,” Adam said.

“Isn’t our development what school is for,” Adora asked, putting down the bar and sitting up.

“That’s not all of it. We gotta take good care of ourselves outside school, too. Like, you wouldn’t do a hundred crunches and nothing for your obliques, right? You keep doing that, you’re gonna twist up your spine cuz you’re pulling on it from the front harder than the back. So you can’t just work real hard on one or two bits of your life, like school and housekeeping, and ignore the other ones, like eating well and sleeping enough and having friends and hobbies.”

Adora was silent. It made so much sense when he said it like that, but she still felt guilty whenever she thought about doing things solely for her own sake. Like sleep.

She did bicep curls contemplatively.

“Race you upstairs for first shower?” Adam said after a while. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Adora took off like a shot, bounding up the stairs and skidding on the carpet as she took the corner. Adam was almost apace, but at the last moment as she reached for the doorknob he shuffled suddenly to the side and fell, avoiding the huge brown tabby cat that had appeared at his feet.

“Ha!” Adora said, slipping into the bathroom and locking it, though she was also curious about the cat.

“Aw, look what you did,” she heard Adam say, muffled through the door. “Look what you did. Now I’m gonna hug ya all covered in sweat and there’s nothing you can do about it. C’mere, you.”

Adora showered efficiently, torn between grinning and crying.

When she was done, wrapped up tightly in a wonderfully large towel, she emerged to find Adam still sitting on the floor with the imperious-looking cat in his lap.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, and reached up for a high-five. He levered himself off the floor and, unceremoniously, handed her the cat. Holding him was a little awkward with the towel tucked in her armpits, but she managed. Christ, the animal was heavy, but also so furry and soft, with a white underbelly that was a little curly like a tiny sheep. She snuggled him without even thinking about it, and he actually purred a little.

“Why?” she said.

“This is my cat. His name’s Cringe Compilation: Feline Edition, or Cringer for short. He’ll snore all over ya, put you right to sleep.”

“Thanks, Adam,” she said, hoisting the cat up a little higher in her arms as he nosed at her curiously.

“No worries, sis,” said her brother. “See you in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh also I drew a couple designs for the human/modern designs; if you wanna see 'em they're on my art tumblr pdalicedraws. [Adam and Adora](https://pdalicedraws.tumblr.com/post/184372101550/ive-been-drawing-a-lot-of-modern-she-ras-as), [Bow and Glimmer](https://pdalicedraws.tumblr.com/post/184397528330/more-modern-she-ras-if-i-was-being-savvy-id), [Perfuma and Entrapta](https://pdalicedraws.tumblr.com/post/185032149363/the-next-set-of-modern-she-ras-my-first-attempt).


End file.
